


how to go on

by elvesarebad



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Future Fic, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Minor Violence, Present Tense, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-12
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-12-14 18:15:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elvesarebad/pseuds/elvesarebad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>scott and danny grieve jackson's death in their own ways and slowly learn to live with his absence</p>
            </blockquote>





	how to go on

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: written for someothermonstra on tumblr, for the prompt do you miss him /sometimes, /with your entire body; set in a future where scott is alpha; also include a minor reference to boyd/erica/lydia :)

scott wrenches himself out of the nightmare, eyes opening wide as he stares up at the ceiling. the duvet’s on the ground, probably thrown there during—scott closes his eyes tight and rubs his face, hard. still breathing heavily – he can feel his heart beat in his ears thumpthumpthumpthump – scott gazes around the bedroom, taking in the familiar sight of the walls painted a light blue, slightly faded in some places; the chest of drawers, battered and scratched, opposite the window; the open bedroom door, leading into the hallway – he can hear the jug boiling. the curtains – brown, ugly, they really need to be torn down  _stop_ scott shakes his head – are thrown open, he can’t sleep with them closed anymore.

he can’t sleep with the window closed either. he feels suffocated if it’s closed, can’t breathe, can’t sleep, tosses and turns all night. not that he doesn’t do that now, but it was worse before. there has to be some avenue of escape, just the promise that he can run fast and far away, even though he won’t.

scott goes to the window and pushes it all the way open, thrusts his head out and breathes deep in in in until he’s almost lightheaded and then out, and again. smells come to him – garbage, vomit, booze, smoke, the fear scent of a stray as it bravely marks the side of the apartment building. scott makes a note of it, plans to bring the dog to the animal clinic. a breeze is cool on his face, drying sweat and bringing with it the taste of autumn. summer’s almost over—good riddance, he thinks bitterly but stops himself from thinking more.

he looks up at the moon. it’s almost full. scott sighs.

“it’s almost full,” danny says behind him. scott steps away from the window and turns to face him. he’s standing in the doorway, a mug in each hand. scott takes the one offered and sits on the bed.

the mug is hot in his hands but he barely notices. danny sits down beside him, close enough that their sides touch. it’s comforting, the feel of boxers and the short hairs on danny’s leg grazing scott’s, and scott wants to look at him so he does. danny’s gazing at the carpet – soft and worn, just right – and he’s letting his coffee grow cold, just holding the mug as though he’s forgotten it’s there. scott takes it gently from his hand – danny grunts and his eyes flick up to scott’s hands and then back to the carpet – and places it in the floor in front of their feet. moonlight from outside shines on the brown liquid, reminding him that the full moon’s coming.

scott takes a sip from his own mug, before it gets cold. hot sweet coffee fills his mouth, slides down his throat, and warms him through and through. danny knows how to make it just the way he likes it. looking at danny’s mug at their feet, scott has a feeling danny doesn’t know how to make it the way  _he_ likes it anymore.

draining the mug – some of the coffee slips out of the corner of his mouth and down his chin – he places it beside danny’s mug on the carpet and sits back, hands on his knees. the pinkie finger of his right hand grazes danny’s leg. scott’s breath catches even though it’s a happened a million times before. he doesn’t pull away, just stares at the spot where his pinkie touches danny, a slight frown furrowing his brow. he doesn’t see danny smile. danny lifts his hand and takes scott’s hand, linking their fingers.

they sit there for a while, holding hands, and scott feels—happy, safe, and content.

danny takes a deep breath and lets it out. “why me?”

scott freezes, he can’t help it. his shoulders tense and some bits of him feel numb, like they’re not a part of him. he wants—he  _needs_  to run away. he squeezes his eyes shut, wishing without much hope that everything could just disappear. but he can still feel danny’s hand in his, and the breeze from the open window sliding over his skin. the aftertaste of coffee in his mouth makes him swallow – it doesn’t help – and he licks suddenly dry lips. none of it is going away any time soon, especially the question danny’s asked.

he opens his eyes and, bracing himself, turns to look at danny.

“why me?” danny repeats, his gaze never wavering. scott wonders how much it took for him to ask, whether the question’s been running through his mind since – scott swallows again, thickly – since that night.

“i thought...” it’s hard for scott to look at him but he makes himself do it. “i thought he’d be okay. allison was there, and boyd...” he turns away, looking at the carpet – he’s less likely to see blame in its worn fibres. he tries to block it out but he can already see danny in that basement, lying on the bloody concrete floor, so still scott would have thought he was dead if he hadn’t noticed the slight rise and fall of his chest. it had taken almost all of his strength to remove most of danny’s pain – he’d vomited vile black gunk for several minutes, slip-sliding over the floor to do it in a corner away from danny. scott doesn’t regret it for a second – if he’d arrived just a few minutes later, danny would have died. as it was, he spent three weeks in the hospital recovering.

“you would have died,” he says, his voice soft.

“instead, he did.” danny’s tone is matter-of-fact but when scott looks at him, danny looks haunted, his face drawn and pale. he tightens his grip on scott’s hand until it hurts but scott doesn’t pull away. “he was my best friend,” danny says, choking the words out, and his face crumples on  _friend_.

scott doesn’t say  _i’m sorry_. the words get stuck in his throat. he remembers lydia kneeling in front of him, the way her voice broke when she said his name and those words –  _scott, i’m sorry_ – and for a second he’d thought that danny had died, had shaken himself out of a daze and turned to stare at danny, who moaned as erica and allison slowly pulled him to his feet. the pure  _relief_  was almost overwhelming, it left him giddy and half way to giggling – he could feel it bubbling up his throat. and then there’d been confusion as he’d turned back to lydia with a frown, lydia who looked sad and afraid. the laughter had died quickly.

scott shuts his eyes. that turns out to be a bad idea because he sees—he opens them quickly. danny’s crying beside him, not holding back like he’d done before. scott doesn’t know what to do – he feels so  _helpless_ – so he does the only thing he can think of. he keeps holding danny’s hand and stays there until danny cries himself out around dawn.

he says the words finally, pushes them out even though they want to stay in. “i’m sorry.”

danny shifts down until he can rest his head against scott’s shoulder. his cheek is wet against scott’s skin and he sniffs. “i know.”

\--------

scott’s greeted by a loud, cheerful chorus when he arrives at the animal clinic. some cats hiss and growl – probably new – so he goes over and introduces himself. cats tend to acclimatise themselves to him quickly, after the initial fuss, as long as he’s polite and feeds them on time. these new cats are no exception.

he can hear boyd in the office rummaging through the file cabinets. erica is out front talking to a customer. after a few minutes and the twinkle of the bell above the front door, erica appears, carrying a small black poodle. she places the dog on the table in front of him. scott gives the poodle his hand to sniff and tentatively lick. he smiles as its fear of him slowly dissipates and its small tail wags a little and then a lot.

“alright,” scott begins, before looking at erica.

“indigo,” she says.

scott smiles cheerfully. “alright, indigo, let’s have a look at you.” indigo looks up at him with big brown eyes full of trust and scott sighs. not you too, he thinks.

danny picks him up for lunch and they go to the diner around the corner. the sign outside says best pancakes in the world but scott thinks his mom’s are better. he hasn’t seen her in a month. sometimes it feels like years.

the diner offers an all-day breakfast so scott orders the pancakes, even though they’re not the best, and danny orders poached eggs and bacon on toast. their waitress, june, knows them and winks as she finishes their order. “and a chocolate milkshake to share, right?”

scott nods and smiles on autopilot, danny just shrugs and fiddles with a napkin. they never came here before – scott swallows and rubs his sweaty palms on his jeans – it happened.

“i don’t blame you,” danny says quietly.

scott glances up to find him tearing the napkin to shreds. he should feel relieved, shouldn’t he? danny doesn’t blame him – that’s good, right? it is, he knows it is, he should feel like a weight’s been lifted from his shoulders but it’s like some more has been added and his shoulders slump from the extra weight.

you should, he thinks but he doesn’t say it out loud.

\------

the full moon comes too soon, as it always does.

danny drives him out to the reserve and parks the car beside erica’s pride and joy, the camaro she found at a scrap yard and fixed up herself. scott smiles tightly, already feeling the change coming. hearing isaac howl, long and loud, doesn’t help at all. he sees his eyes flash red for a second in the windscreen and his fangs elongate without his permission. he turns to danny, to say goodnight, just as danny turns to kiss him on the cheek. he gets the corner of scott’s mouth instead.

danny pulls away quickly, his face turning red, and scott stares at him, frozen. it’s the first time anything like this has happened in—in  _months_ and scott  _wants_  him, suddenly, desperately. he finds himself staring at danny’s mouth hungrily; it doesn’t help that danny’s been chewing on his bottom lip, making it all red and delicious and irresistible. his eyes flick up to danny’s – his pupils are dilated and he’s breathing heavily, scott realises. he doesn’t realise how desperate and needy he sounds when he says, “please,  _please_.”

bunching his hand in scott’s shirt, danny draws him in, and in, and in. scott wants to kiss danny forever, feel teeth tug at his bottom lip, or his tongue slide into danny’s mouth, or the stubble burn because neither of them have shaved in several days. the sound of seat covers ripping as his claws dig in pulls him away for a second but danny breathes, “don’t,” into his mouth and slips fingers through his hair, tugs til he’s got a better angle. scott moans, making danny swear loudly and fumble at scott’s jeans.

isaac howls again. it’s louder and closer than it had been and this time scott can hear boyd and erica laughing. derek’s probably somewhere close by, glaring at a tree. and ja—

scott freezes for a second and then pulls away, tugging at the car door several times before it opens. he doesn’t look at danny, just tumbles out of the car and walks away toward the trees and the sounds of pack. he sheds his clothes and goes full wolf – it’s faster that way, to get away from danny’s line of sight, easier to blend into the darkness and join the pack.

\--------

“what’s wrong?” stiles asks just as scott’s finished saying hello. stiles always calls him the morning after a full moon to check if he’s okay. scott’s been lying to him for months – nothing’s okay, there’s something missing and it feels wrong, but he can barely admit that to himself let along anyone else.

scott sighs and pins the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he folds a t-shirt and places it in the pile meant for danny. “nothing’s wrong,” he says, keeping his voice light.

that doesn’t fool stiles. scott’s not sure why he thought it would. “something’s wrong,” stiles says. “is it danny? do i need to come down there and kick his ass?” scott hears him shuffle some papers. “my days off are coming up, plenty of time for an ass-kicking and then maybe a movie afterward? maybe the new batman one?”

“no, everything’s  _fine_ , stiles,” scott reassures him, even though it’s not. “danny’s  _fine_ ,” he adds, folding a pair of his jeans up. he’s not sure that’s true but it’s better if he pretends it is. “you don’t have to kick his ass.”

stiles sighs with relief. “well, that’s good. he’s bigger than me, i’d probably lose. and you know i hate pain, can’t stand the stuff.” he pauses and scott thinks he’s going to drop it, finally. but he doesn’t. “you do know you can talk to me, right?” stiles clears his throat. “about anything?”

scott stops in the middle of folding a pair of socks and tries not to sigh. everyone – except danny – tells him that but he can barely deal with—he swallows, takes a deep shuddering breath. “i know,” he says, trying to smile, even though stiles can’t see his face. “and everything’s fine.”

“if you say so,” stiles says slowly. he doesn’t sound like he believes him. scott ignores that, like he does with a lot of things, and tries to turn the conversation away from him.

\---------

boyd confronts him at work later that day. “look, scott, i don’t know who you had doing the accounts before me but they were terrible,” he says grimly, like any argument to this is invalid from the start. he waves a piece of paper in scott’s face and pushes his glasses back up his nose. “finally finished going through it all this morning and look, here,” he points to the middle right of the page – “the dividends paid should not be in the operating activities section! do you know how long it took me to figure out that they meant dividends  _received_?” he shakes his head before scott can say a word and makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat.

on her laptop at the front desk, erica turns a snort into a cough. boyd glares at her.

scott tries not to smile. his mouth quivers at the effort and boyd notices. “laugh all you want, we all know i’m the reason we haven’t declared bankruptcy yet.”

erica smirks at his back as he turns and stomps into the office, slamming the door shut. “oh, not again!” they hear him shout as the force of the door slamming sends papers flying.

“i’m getting him paper weights for christmas,” erica whispers gleefully. “shh, don’t tell.”

this time when danny takes scott to lunch at the diner, boyd, erica, and isaac tag along. they’ve done this before so it’s not like it’s completely out of the blue. isaac, who’d been late to work, regales them with tales of gary, his pet tortoise, who had decided to pack a hissy fit once isaac had arrived home last night. having them there and happy makes everything less awkward, scott thinks, but he can tell danny’s looking at him, his head to one side and frowning like he can’t quite figure scott out.

lydia appears five minutes after they’ve ordered, sliding into the space erica’s cleared beside her in preparation for her arrival. “allison says hello from canada,” she says, patting erica’s knee with one hand as she steals a handful of fries from erica’s plate with the other. erica’s cheeks turn pink and she grabs lydia’s hand, but not to push it away. much to scott’s surprise – he does feel a bit guilty for watching but now that erica’s pushed him further into the booth to make room for lydia, danny’s beside him, squashed up beside him so it’s better if he looks anywhere but there, concentrates on something, anything else – erica holds lydia’s hand, no linked fingers, they just hold hands.

scott wants to hold danny’s hand but instead he pulls the chocolate milkshake they share close and sips from the straw. he can feel danny watching him.

isaac swallows the pancake he’d stuffed into his mouth, sugar coating his chin. “what part of canada? it’s a big place.”

“vancouver,” boyd and lydia say together, boyd with a roll of his eyes. scott smiles, covering his mouth with his hand as isaac rolls his eyes right back and erica makes a snarky comment, followed immediately by an argument wherein isaac insinuates that erica takes boyd’s side all the time because they’re dating. boyd lets his head fall into his hands as the argument rages on. lydia gives him a sympathetic pat on the knee with her heel.

scott doesn’t put a stop to the argument, partly because he knows they don’t really mean it and partly because it’s a good distraction, although not good enough. scott can still feel danny pressed up against him, it’s difficult not to. he reaches for the milkshake again; his hand collides with danny’s as he reaches for it too and scott can’t help but turn and look at him, hands still touching. danny smiles at him and pulls their hands under the table, linking their fingers. part of him feels like he should pull away – he doesn’t know why – but most of him feels happy and safe and content again. he’d like to keep it that way for a little while.

\------

scott wrenches himself out of another nightmare – jackson’s eyes stare up at him, vacant and dead, and there’s so much blood, too much, like down in the basement with danny, but this time he couldn’t save him, he was  _too late_ – sweating and shaking and gasping for breath. danny appears from out of nowhere – even though scott knows he’s been right beside him through the night – and pulls him close, turns him on his side and wraps an arm around him, smoothing a hand up and down his back. danny makes a noise half way between a shh and a hum as he does so, the sound of it bringing scott back enough that when he closes his eyes he no longer sees jackson’s dead eyes staring back at him. scott presses his face against danny’s shoulder and breathes him in, the faint scent of armani, his own unique smell, soap and skin and shampoo and coffee too, a little bit. scott wonders if he got up earlier to make himself some, if he can’t sleep because nightmares wake him too.

“it’s not your fault,” danny says quietly.

scott tenses and pulls away, he can’t help it. danny lets him go but scott can tell by the way he holds himself, arms stiff at his sides, that he doesn’t want to. “it’s not your fault, scott,” he says again, at the same volume as before but somehow it seems louder, more emphatic , with his name on the end. scott pulls away, almost to the edge of the bed, shaking his head because—because it  _is_ his fault. if he’d been just a little faster, a little bit stronger, jackson would be alive and it wouldn’t feel like there’s something missing, something  _wrong_ , all of the time.

“no,” danny says, reaching out to touch him, not to pull him back, just to touch and slide his hands along scott’s skin. scott can feel his fingers trembling, or maybe scott’s shaking, he can’t tell. danny’s voice is a whisper, barely audible. “please don’t pull away again, scott, please.” scott can hear it in his voice even though he doesn’t say the words  _please don’t leave me._

scott can’t breathe for a second and then air rushes in until he almost chokes on it. “danny, no,” he says fiercely and then somehow he’s kissing him – and when did that happen? one minute he’s on the other side of the bed, the next he’s practically on top of danny, devouring his mouth, teeth clashing, and danny makes a noise of surprise like he didn’t expect this but then he wraps his arms around scott, digging his nails into scott’s back. suddenly there’s no awkward teeth clashing or nose bumping because danny’s taken control of the kiss and scott is happy to surrender to him.

scott pulls away because—because they should talk about stuff and things and jackson and feelings and that thing that’s missing but doesn’t seem to be right now. “um, i mean,” scott says, sighing happily and losing his train of thought when danny leaves off kissing to suck on the point just under his ear on his neck. not for long though, danny’s back to kissing him in less than ten seconds, like he can’t get enough, and scott feels giddy, grinning against danny’s mouth. for some reason this makes danny laugh and he flips them over so he’s on top, breaking the kiss because otherwise they’d have just had their faces smooshed together and it would have probably been uncomfortable and off-putting. the thought makes scott laugh for some reason and danny grins down at him, showing teeth.

“we should really talk,” scott tells him very seriously as danny kisses his way down scott’s chest.

“in the morning.”

\---------

they don’t talk about it in the morning although scott doesn’t really mind. he wakes up happy, with a smile on his face, and when he stretches – making sure he doesn’t hit danny, who sleeps on, mouth open slightly and face pressed against the pillow, with any of his limbs – he feels  _good_ for the first time in months.

he always gets up earlier than danny, who works at a research facility two blocks down the street where he does super important top secret research for the government. jackson had rolled his eyes whenever scott made that joke but danny had always played along, looking as mysterious as he could, sipping a cup of coffee or folding laundry or washing dishes. scott doesn’t really know how danny managed it with soap bubbles on his chin and his hands in lukewarm soapy water but he did.

scott freezes at the memory but he doesn’t block out like he’s done before, just lets it unfold although he’s shaking and wishing it wouldn’t. jackson had looked exasperated and told danny not to encourage him. danny had flicked some lukewarm water in his direction, scoring a direct hit on his perfect white shirt. he’d crowed with triumph and he and scott had high-fived because that almost never happened while jackson glared at him and then stomped off to the bedroom to change his shirt, yelling something along the lines of, “you’re both children, children!” in a shrill voice that made scott laugh and clutch at danny to keep from falling. it wasn’t that funny but when scott looked up, danny was smiling too, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“you’re both so mean,” jackson had muttered when he’d returned, wearing one of danny’s t-shirts, the one with elmo on the front, scott thinks.

“we keep you humble,” danny had replied solemnly, his face perfectly straight. he couldn’t keep it like that for long, not with the way jackson looked at them both, shaking his head and heaving a put-upon sigh. scott had looked at danny, biting his lip to keep the laughter mostly contained, and danny’s perfectly straight face had dissolved. he’d thrown an arm around scott’s shoulders to keep himself upright, wet soapy fingers clutching scott’s t-shirt, leaving the material damp wherever he touched it. scott remembers it vividly, the way danny pressed his face against scott’s neck, his whole body shaking against him, or the way jackson threw his arms up as though he’d finally given up on them, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

scott waits for the inevitable image of jackson’s cold, dead eyes staring up at him, or of the long bloody gash up his chest, ripping through the elmo t-shirt he’d started to wear – “keeps me humble,” he’d say with a smirk and they’d roll their eyes, like jackson could ever be  _humble_  – but when it does, he just feels sad, and not the bone-numbing kind of before, the kind that incapacitated him for a several minutes as he slammed the walls down and got himself under control. no, this is just soft, somehow, and – he licks his lips and sniffs – salty because he’s crying. he hasn’t cried in—it’s a surprise to realise he hasn’t cried at all.

taking a deep, if shaky, breath, scott slips out of bed and into the bathroom where he splashes cold water on his face. bracing himself against the basin, he looks in the mirror and takes in his pink cheeks and red eyes, sniffs again, and then dries his face with the hand towel. it smells like danny and him, but not jackson. nothing smells like jackson anymore, not even the clothes they can’t bear to give away or put in storage.

when scott goes back to the bedroom, he can tell danny’s awake now, can feel him watching as he puts on sweat pants and a t-shirt, the one he wore when he went for his morning run. it still has blue flecks of paint on it, from when they’d painted the bedroom. danny sometimes joins him, although not recently. jackson had always muttered into a pillow that allison had given scott bad habits before falling asleep again.

he takes a deep breath when he gets outside and it feels like the first time he’s taken a breath in years. he savours it, and the scents that reach his nose as he lingers outside the apartment building. one scent is familiar and when he opens his eyes, danny’s standing beside him. he grins and danny grins right back, eyes crinkling at the corners, and scott feels like a weight’s been lifted from his shoulders.

they run three blocks and when they get back to the apartment, scott makes them toast and they sit across from each other at the kitchen table, cheeks red and grinning at each other for no particular reason.

\------

when danny arrives to take him out for lunch, no one else tags along. boyd’s in the office, going over the accounts. he makes a sort of hooting noise, like an owl, whenever he finds something important. isaac smirks whenever he does it and, just as scott and danny are leaving, he leans over to erica, the chair he’s sitting on now precariously balanced on one leg, and asks, “does he make that noise during sex?”

erica doesn’t look away from whatever she’s doing on her laptop. “yes,” she replies primly. isaac’s jaw drops and his chair finally gives up, tumbling him to the floor. erica presses the space bar on the keyboard and begins to type.

at the diner, they sit in comfortable silence until june brings them their order. scott saws at a pancake with the side of his fork – it’s not very efficient but it’s what he’s always done. jackson started doing it about a year into their relationship and danny always without fail gave them a  _look_ , fondly exasperated like he knows it’s useless to try and teach them manners but it hurts him a little inside whenever they do it. scott can feel danny giving him that look now so he looks up and pops the bit of pancake into his mouth, grinning around it.

“what?” he says faux-innocently.

danny shakes his head and, very slowly, like he’s giving a lesson, cuts his poached egg and bacon on toast into neat little squares. scott watches him do it, attentively, and then he saws another bit of pancake away with his fork, just to show danny he can’t be tamed.

danny sighs mournfully. “why do i even try?” he asks the ceiling. it has no answers.

they’re each sipping from a straw in the chocolate milkshake when danny leans back against the booth and sighs, folding his arms across his chest. scott waits – he feels like he should be tense but he’s not. instead, he’s feel calm and the chocolate milkshake’s going down just right.

“i never blamed you,” danny says eventually. his voice is quiet and sad, and he sighs afterward and scrubs his face with a hand, roughly. “i blamed myself,” he admits softly. scott frowns and reaches across the table to take his hand.

“what, no, you shouldn’t,” scott begins but danny waves his words away.

when he smiles, it’s a bitter one but he doesn’t pull his hand away from scott’s. “don’t you think i know that?” he sighs and looks around the diner, at anything but scott. “sometimes i wish i could go back to being blissfully ignorant about everything because then at least he’d probably be alive and i’d—but it wasn’t blissful and i hated being ignorant, helpless, like i couldn’t do anything because i didn’t know  _why_ or  _how_ —” he stops abruptly and shakes his head, gives scott a self-deprecating smile that wobbles but holds. “it’s stupid, i know.”

scott shakes his head. “no. no, it’s not,” he says and his grip on danny’s hand tightens as he leans forward. “danny, it’s not stupid.” he looks away when danny meets his eye. “it’s my fault he’s dead,” he whispers, finally saying it aloud feels like another weight lifting from his shoulders. “if i’d just been faster—i thought he was safe, i never even thought—and now he’s gone and it feels  _wrong_.”

when he looks up, danny’s glaring at him. he can’t help but make a small noise of surprise in the back of his throat, especially when danny leans across the table and says fiercely, “it’s not your fault, scott, do you hear me?”

scott shakes his head, stubbornly. “it is,” he insists. part of him doesn’t know why he’s saying it’s so – shouldn’t he be relieved that danny doesn’t think it is? but it doesn’t matter what anyone else believes, even danny – scott knows it’s his fault jackson’s dead. every time he’s turned his back and ignored his responsibilities, even just for a little while, jackson got hurt because of it. it’s  _his_  fault.

“no, it’s not,” danny says and leans further over the table to kiss him firmly on the mouth. it must be an uncomfortable position, standing up, knees bent slightly, leaning over the table, scott thinks, but he kisses danny back anyway, one arm thrown around his neck, fingers trailing through his hair. scott still doesn’t believe him but maybe if danny keeps kissing him, he might, sometime soon.

june clears her throat in front of them and they pull apart quickly. “just gonna get these,” she says as she picks up the plates, cutlery, and the empty milkshake glass. “carry on.” she moves away and the diner suddenly becomes slightly louder than it had been.

“it’s my fault,” scott insists, his cheeks slightly pink. he licks his lips absently and danny’s eyes flick down to watch and then back up.

“no, it’s not,” danny says again, firmly. he smiles, just a little. “and you know he’d be the first person to slap you on the back of the head and call you a moron if he heard you talking like this. you know it,” danny adds when scott opens his mouth to deny it.

scott has to admit that he’s probably right and finds himself rubbing the back of his head like it’s already happened. danny grins.

\-------

talking doesn’t solve everything. scott still wakes up sometimes, gasping for breath, the image of jackson’s dead eyes fading rapidly from his mind’s eye, but it’s not as bad as it was. danny’s already awake – it’s clear to scott he has nightmares too but scott still doesn’t feel comfortable enough talking about his own nightmares, let alone asking about danny’s – and he watches as danny goes and opens the window completely, letting in the sounds and smells of the night time. and then he comes back to bed, throws an arm over scott, and falls asleep. it takes scott a little bit more time but eventually he also falls asleep, danny’s head pillowed on his shoulder.

eventually things will work themselves out, he thinks. just give it time.


End file.
